


Congratulations

by ellamequiere



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Napoleonic Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellamequiere/pseuds/ellamequiere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Battle of Rossbach, Prussia creamed France.  And speaking of creaming, England is ALL OVER that.  Written in 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Congratulations

When Prussia charged uninvited into England’s bedroom, covered with dirt and blood, England thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

 

Prussia gave him a breathless, nasty grin. “You heard, then.”

 

Before he even really knew himself what he was doing, England had pinned him against the closed door, smiling savagely, with half a hard-on already. “I heard,” he whispered.

 

Prussia’s grin turned predatory. “And you like it,” he said.

 

“And I like it,” breathed England.

 

Prussia, with a leer, ground up against him. “You like it a lot,” he asserted, with something like glee.

 

“I like it a lot,” England growled, and kissed him hard. He felt Prussia exhale a little shakily against him, and then—a second in advance—a surge of muscle, and he was on his back on the bed. He exhaled, huskily. “God,” he said, low. “Your army…”

 

“My army,” Prussia growled back, grinding his own hard-on against England’s hip. “Does it get you hot?” he breathed.

 

“It gets me hot,” England hissed back, “and it makes me want to fuck you until you scream.”

 

Prussia laughed. “You think you’re fucking me? What are you, nuts?”

 

In a second, England had them flipped over, pinning Prussia’s wrists down with one hand, the other harsh in his hair. “Damn right, I’m fucking you,” he said. He saw the way Prussia’s eyes went unfocused, and laughed. “You may be a growing power on the Continent, but I have standing armies in places you’ve never even heard of. Come back in a few hundred years, and maybe I’ll let you do the fucking.”

 

Prussia’s eyes snapped back into focus, and he fought England’s weight, trying to get an arm free. He was strong—he was very strong. But England was stronger. “What if I don’t consent to this?” he asked.

 

England laughed again, and it was meaner. “You’ll consent by the time I’m done with you.”

 

Prussia’s expression changed to one of something like fear. “But I did good for you—I did real good. You can’t—“

 

England looked down at him for a second. Then he sighed, and let him up. “You’re right,” he said. “It would hardly be an appropriate way to congratulate you. Tell me what you want.”

 

Prussia sat up, looking away. “If I let you fuck me,” he said, slowly, “can I fuck you after?”

 

England shrugged. “Seems only fair.”

 

Prussia turned, eyes assessing. “…ok,” he said, finally. “But you’ve gotta do it from behind, and it’s gotta be standing.”

 

Strange request. But, “As you like.” Hardly one he’d turn down.

 

“And,” whispered Prussia, eyes going vague again, “it’s gotta be hard.”

 

“Again, I can easily—“ and he grabbed a handful of Prussia’s hair. The small noise Prussia made was closer to a moan than anything else. “—easily oblige.” England let go, and stood. Prussia stayed where he was. “Well?” he asked. Slowly, slowly Prussia stood.

\---

Ok. Ok, so he was nervous. In his own head, he could admit it. You know, man, he hadn’t done much fucking, and he’d gotten fucked himself even less. When he had… damn, but it had hurt. This was coming from him, and he’d gotten shot. So when he stood up, he might—might—have been shaking a little. But man, if you got yourself in a position where you could get your jerk-off fantasies acted out without any repercussions… sure, yeah, there were probably people who’d let that pass, but Prussia wasn’t one of them.

 

He crossed the room to the door he’d come in through; it looked solid enough. He braced himself against it, and scrunched his eyes shut. Then England was behind him, and his breath was hot against his ear when he whispered “How gentle do you want me to be getting in?”

 

Prussia twitched at the word gentle. Nobody should be being gentle with anybody here. Then he remembered muffling his screams in the dirt, fighting with everything in him not to beg for it to stop. “Uh,” he said.

 

England was quiet for a second. “Have you done this before?”

 

“Yeah,” grumbled Prussia, not happy about admitting it, but not willing to let England think he was the first or anything.

 

“How often?”

 

Now, that was just… “Four times.” He looked over his shoulder—England looked impressed. He felt a little surge of smugness.

 

“We’re going to have to take the beginning slow, then,” he said.

 

Prussia sighed impatiently, turn between irritation and relief. “Can we get this over with?”

 

“As you like.”

 

He heard England moving away, and turned. “Where the fuck are you going? I’m not waiting forever.”

 

England came back with a small bottle of some sort of medicinal liniment. What the fuck? “Turn,” he said. Prussia obeyed. “Take down your trousers.” Prussia hesitated for a moment. But that was kind of an important part of the process, so he did it. 

 

He breathed deep, trying to relax for the pain. Then jumped, when, instead of what he expected, he felt England fingers—wet. “What the fuck?” he asked. England sighed in exasperation, but didn’t answer. Then, in one smooth motion, England had a finger all up in him, and—it hurt, sure, but in the way that getting smacked hurts, not the way getting sliced open hurts. “You’re going to fuck me with your hands?”

 

He heard impatience in the other man’s voice. “You really haven’t done this outside of wartime, have you?”

 

“Uh, no.” Why else would you do it?

 

“It’s possible—“ England’s finger was moving now, and damn but it was weird, “—to do this without injuring your partner.”

 

Prussia let that sink in. “Seriously?”

 

“Yes,” said England, and Prussia couldn’t quite read his voice. Then his finger was moving out, and Prussia couldn’t help himself from clenching down hard. Another impatient sigh, and England’s hand stilled until Prussia could get himself to relax. When England’s fingers came back, there were two of them, and, yeah, it still hurt, but… damn. Uh. Maybe England would forget he’d made that noise.

 

Prussia was breathing fast and shallow when England got up to three, and now it was just plain pain. To his relief and frustration, England stopped moving. Oh. Right. With the mastery of his body that came from centuries of physical training, Prussia forced himself to relax. Then England’s fingers were sliding again, and it was frustratingly gentle.

 

“Dammit, asshole. I’m not your wife, do this right.” He felt England shrug, and then the fingers were ramming into him, fast and hard. Fuck. He was making noise now, and he didn’t bother to stop himself. “Enough with the fucking hands,” he got out, and in the next beat England’s dick—slick too, which he thought he understood now—was there. The first inch was fast, and Prussia nearly screamed. Then there was a slow, steady slide, and Prussia’s breathing went shallow again. 

 

Again, he clenched down, and England winced. “Cut it out,” he hissed.

 

Prussia didn’t want to admit he couldn’t help it, so he did it again. England grabbed a handful of his hair, and yanked his head to the side. “Quit it,” was what he probably said, but the blood was rushing too loud in Prussia’s ears for him to listen. He felt his whole body go slack. When England finally pushed the rest of the way in, he whined, and was mortified to realize that he was bucking back against him. England laughed low, and Prussia would have been infuriated if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

 

England grabbed his hips, and then he was fucking him for real. Again, pain, but—just enough pain. Prussia growled, and spread his legs wider. “Hard—fuck—harder.” And there it was, right on the edge of way too much. He could feel already that he was gonna be sore for a week, but he really just didn’t give a fuck. He freed an arm, and jerked himself hard and fast, and damn, that was it, he was coming all over England’s door. Hah, served the fucker right.

 

England was breathing hard now, movements getting jerky and the fingers on his hips bruising. “If you come in my ass, I’ll kill you,” said Prussia, just to get that out there. England grunted assent. Then his whole body went taut, and he was out—just in time, it sounded like. He let his weight rest on Prussia, and Prussia found he didn’t mind.

 

For a second, anyway. Then he was pushing himself up and away. Damn, yeah, there was the ouch. He winced as he bent down enough to get his pants up. He heard England doing the same behind him. 

 

He turned, and collapsed on the man’s bed, dirty uniform and all. England lay down next to him—not touching, which was good because Prussia would so have whipped his ass. “So, you were going to fuck me,” said England, and Prussia wanted to hit him for the smug satisfaction in his voice.

 

“Go to hell,” said Prussia. He didn’t ask if the offer applied to another day. He’d make it apply, dammit.

 

England just laughed. “Congratulations,” he said. And Prussia felt a slow, satisfied smirk on his face.


End file.
